


A Dream of Venice

by unevenstar



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Emotional Baggage, Flashbacks, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Pining, Rating May Change, artist, painter, paintings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29735895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unevenstar/pseuds/unevenstar
Summary: Honda Kiku is an architecture student heading to Genova for his studies, stuck with the Italian-born Feliciano Vescovi as his roommate. Honda keeps to himself while Feliciano is the most chatty person he's met...but also the most wonderful painter, as well.Soon, Feliciano makes a request to paint him - and from every portrait afterwards, he falls in love.However, Honda isn't sure how to feel.--(Based off an AU made by @a_tray_on_a_pan on Instagram. This is for you, buddy.)
Relationships: Japan/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	A Dream of Venice

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: In east Asian countries, it is customary to refer to people by their last names first. I will be following this as a narrator.

**1\. Afterwards**

The scent of sweat tinged Honda Kiku’s nose as he looked up, to the ceiling - there was a faint, golden hue shining from the lone light that was on, and there was a shadow cast from the hoodie partially draped onto it. 

It was _his_ hoodie, and in place of a shirt on his chest was a head full of russet-brown curls. With that head came a resting face, with long lashes brushing against the soft rosiness of the man’s cheek. This man was nobody less than Feliciano Vargas, his friend of two years and the most talented painter he knew of. 

_Friends._ It seemed like a funny word, as Feliciano ran his fingers down the side of Honda’s torso, deft and gentle like he was a canvas, and Feli was the artist. Perhaps, Kiku thought wistfully, that was the case. There was no definition for a pair of lovers, but whether or not they had to be a man and a woman was no requirement. It frustrated him immensely, but knowing he was in Feli’s comfort soothed his worries and brought him solace. 

To Honda, it was the painter’s hidden talent - bringing out the best of people, no matter how shy and inapproachable they seemed to be. Honda slowly ran a hand through Feli’s hair, and on top of him the man hummed in response. 

Neither him nor the Italian man would be moving from their spots intertwined in bed together, limb pressed against limb, anytime soon. So, he breathed in the scent of their love, and closed his eyes.

“I’m going to sleep now, Kiku.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Honda could feel him smile against his belly.  
  
  


**2\. Two Years Ago**

The country of Italy was as foreign to Honda as any other western country. At least Honda spoke the language well enough, along with some English to get by if needed. The cities would be safe, and full with people to ask around and enough stores to buy everything he needed. His parents sent him some money along with a firm pat on the back to study hard, get good grades, and come back with high remarks. It seemed simple enough, and Honda was diligent enough of a student not to get distracted. 

His university was near the center of the city, and with harried instruction alongside the other students, Honda found his room with a view of the bay in the distance. Already, it was covered with posters of art, a canvas sat in the far corner, and there were scattered magazines on a small white desk. What Honda hadn’t noticed, however, was his roommate in the top bunk swinging down to greet him. 

A sunny Italian man eagerly approached him, the corners of his golden eyes crinkling. _“Benvenuto, benvenuto!_ You’re one of the international students! I already know your name, it’s-”

“Call me Kiku.” Honda bowed, out of habit. His Italian had been fine, but he quickly realized _they didn’t do that here_. Oddly enough, he saw his roommate doing the same action. 

“Feliciano Vargas. I'll be with you for the next two years at least,” he smiled. He smelled of basil and sunshine, and wore a dandelion yellow cotton shirt that hung loosely down his wiry frame. Everything about Feliciano spelled out a warm welcome Honda thought was rather unnecessary. If this was at home in japan, his parents wouldn’t have even noticed him, but this was no home. Honda was to stay in Italy for the rest of the year - so perhaps it _would_ be more than just studying. 

He listened rather attentively to Feliciano make rambling introductions to the room he’d already settled into. Honda decided to return the favor of a small smile, and with that, his fate was sealed. They’d be roommates in an art and design university, sharing quarters and living space in such close capacity Honda wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it.

But if he managed to raise himself away and well from his absent parents, would a sunny Italian be too much of a problem?

“You must be _so_ hungry,” Feliciano said all of a sudden. “How about your first dinner is on me? We can go to any restaurant in the area, and I do know all the good ones! I’m _basically_ a local, no?”

Honda instantly sprung a few steps backward, because firstly, his Italian was _very_ fast and tricky to adjust to, and secondly, Feliciano was far too close. He was in no place to refuse, however, not at the generous welcome of his roommate.

“That would be wonderful,” he replied. Feliciano seemed to bounce out of his skin. 

“But I’ll pay for myself, Feliciano.”

The Italian man sagged a little, and Honda hoped he didn’t mind too much.

  
  
  
**3\. The Blank Canvas**

One thing Honda quickly learned about Feliciano was that he was born and raised in Venice, the beautiful and famed city farther south than the northern Genova they stayed in.

“And there are, uh, that is the location the paintings come from?” Honda found his own Italian stiff. 

Feliciano didn’t seem to mind too much, continuing along in his usual chipper. “Yes, Venice! The famous gondolas and the city on the water… Oh, I wanna go back there soon, but I’ve already lived there quite a long, long while. But you can never get enough Venice, am I right? Even Nonna isn’t sick of the place yet! Kiku, say, have you been there?”

Looking up from the miniature jigsaw puzzle he’d bought at the airport a month ago, Honda shook his head. “I have only been here. And Rome, when I was younger.”

Feliciano let out an all-knowing sigh, followed by a comic nod of his head. “You can see all the Italy you want in my paintings. But I hope you like them!”

Of course Honda told him yes, and detailed his experiences in Italy the best he could upon Feliciano’s request. He noticed Feliciano starting to space off towards the tail end of his speech. Both of them enjoyed looking out their one, large window in the center of the wall very much, and Honda didn’t mind watching Feliciano get lost in thought. He was appreciative of the other man’s features.

“Oh, you probably see me dozing off again? I don’t mean it; it’s just difficult for me to focus. After all, I have an assignment to do for class, and I’m busy getting stressed about it...Oh!” Feliciano grinned. The expression on his face startled Honda, as it was both the lightbulb of realization and the flirtatious charm that was never too far put away when Feliciano talked about other girls or boys. _It had to be an Italian thing,_ Honda convinced himself. It was that and nothing else.

“Can you model for me?”

“Excuse me?”

“The folder of studies we’re given to draw from is awfully boring. Can you take off your clothes?”

Honda’s jaw dropped about five inches. “I’m sorry-”

Feliciano found Honda’s reaction priceless. He laughed and laughed and doubled over onto the couch in sheer childlike delight. And for Honda, he found that in place of the expected blanched horror, there was a burning flush on his face stemming from the knowledge that a man was _interested_ in him. That was new, regardless of gender.

“Well,” Honda said hesitantly, “if you really require it, I can-” 

With a finger to the Japanese man’s lips, Feliciano cut him off. “I’m kidding! Please, keep your clothes on...if you want.”

Before Honda could reach up to that freckled face and scream in his ear, Feliciano had already plopped down at the canvas and angled it towards the couch. He opened a drawer and pulled out a few tubes of oil paint in various shades of green - Honda couldn’t read the individual color names from that far, but Feliciano seemed proud of his choices. In his left hand was a palette, and in his right was a flat, wide brush. 

Honda gulped, looking hopelessly at the ceiling. “You really want to paint me?”

After squeezing a few smears of paint onto the palette, Feliciano cracked open the window, and the ocean air poured in. “Of course I do. Now, pose in any way you think is natural!”

 _Natural._ That was a difficult concept to wrap one’s head around. Honda never had a wonderful experience with his parents taking pictures of him - every surviving picture of him seemed ingenuine and uncandid. But sitting down for an entire _painting?_ He felt queasy.

Feliciano seemed to catch on, whispering something to himself before speaking. _“Bello,_ you look so nervous.”

 _Of course he was_ \- Honda looked down at his feet, noting the stiff position he sat in. But the way Feliciano said those words made him ease up, and he lay against the pillows with a hand resting on his lap.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Feliciano chuckled, and the scent of linseed oil hit Honda’s nose. “Don’t ever feel like you need to apologize to me, Kiku.”

Honda watched him sweep his arm against the canvas. The Italian man studied him for a second, and continued to paint his form. He’d been scrutinized before by predisposed prejudice, but never before out of relaxed _admiration._ Honda chewed on his lip - it certainly felt like a strange form of affection, being made into artwork for his roommate’s school project, but it was enough affection to fill his tired soul nonetheless. Slowly but surely, he would settle into the feeling of sitting still while being watched.

Feliciano’s words suddenly brought him back to reality. “Hey, tilt your head back to the side again, will you?”

With a stiff breath, Honda obeyed. “You don’t mind painting me, do you?”

A passion gripped Feliciano’s face, and with a beam, he nodded his head vigorously. What followed was the brush dropping to the carpet in a spatter of chartreuse. “Oh, I _love_ it!”

Two pairs of eyes stared at the mess on the ground, and Feliciano groaned, putting his head in his hands. 

Honda Kiku laughed.


End file.
